


All We Do IS Think About The Feelings We Hide

by Madzie



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 08:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madzie/pseuds/Madzie
Summary: “Maybe you just suck Lewis,” Jace remarks dryly, nudging Simon’s arm with his elbow.“Nuh-uh, this level of injustice has to be supernaturally bound,” Simon makes a big show of it with a wide sweep of his arms—narrowly smacking Jace’s nose with the back of his palm.“Keep your hands to yourself,” Jace snarks, passing his stack of cards to Dot, who just smiles sympathetically to him while Clary starts up a conversation about the precision of rune drawing with Alec, who in turn just smiles lazily and toys with the hair on the nape of Magnus’s neck.“Oh please bro, don’t front. You totally want these hands all over you.” Like most of the time , Simon’s brain catches up to what his mouth has just spouted out three seconds too late, and he is now burning a blazing scarlet.





	All We Do IS Think About The Feelings We Hide

~*~

“It use to belong to Ragnor, you know…Before.” Dot explains with a jostle to the knob she’s got a key lodged into, (It’ll never escape Simon how  his world is now composed of Shadowhunters, and Warlocks and about a hundred other mystical creatures that normal folk are happily content in believing are firmly nestled within the leather bindings of their children’s fairytales—for fuck’s sake Simon himself is a god forsaken, pun intended, vampire now—But they all still still depend on painfully mundane tools like keys.) “It’s not much, but well, Ragnor never wanted it to be conspicuous, incase the wards are ever rendered useless.” 

Sweeping back her damp hair, (Thank you impossible rainfall in Idris,) Dot gives a very forceful hip check to the rackety door, finally bursting it open. The group of six clammer through the threshold, finding refuge in the comparative warmth.

“How do you know about this place?” Clary tries asking nonchalantly, but Simon could still see the worry etched into the tightening of her shoulders, and how her hand keeps fluttering back to the ancient ring of the Fay on her left index finger—the group’s only contact to Izzy as she plays double agent, and tries squeezing out the last drop of willingly given information by the Clave, before she meets them all back here at their previously designated safe house. Considering how Izzy’s the only one left in the Clave’s good graces, thanks to she being the one to finally capture an escaped Valentine, by none other than supreme bitch face Jr—so it was only plausible that she be the one to stay behind in Alicante.

The downright mutinous glint in Clary’s gentle blue eyes tells Simon that she’s still totally against that reasoning, and would much rather have her girlfriend besides her, where she knows she’s safe. If Simon’s being honest he totally understands Clary’s stance, if it had been Jace—

Oh, well…Erm, if it’d been Jace, that would of been better—It’s not as if Simon would be going through even an ounce of Clary’s tribulation. Not at all.  
Not the teensiest bit

So what ifSometimes Simon and Jace go to the movies just the two of them—that doesn’t mean anything. Hell, the only thing that does mean is that basically all their friends have awful, horrendous taste, and were born void with the ability to appreciate the intricacies of terrible, early twenty first century horror films that only see the light of day in run down, drive-ins on the edge of Brooklyn. (Okay, well all of them are heathens accept for Maia. But she’s like always either working the nightshift, or is flirting up Dot. She has no time to marvel over Nicolas Cage’s apparent bee phobia.)

And okay, so yeah Clary may occasionally tease them for always ending up eating off each other’s food whenever the gang has one of their increasingly frequent update sessions where they inform each other about which shit storm is currently threatening to ravage this world as they know it, (Seriously Valentine fucking said that. Like he was a fucking parody of a villain. Like hand to God, the dude lost like at least fifteen terrifying points because of that one line alone.) But whatever, Jace fucking loves samosas, and Simon knows to always order a more milder pallet for Jace’s gentle sensibilities, because the douche is always to boastful to actually ask to turn down the heat when they order Indian.

And so what if occasionally they fall asleep on the same couch in Magnus’s loft, that—and all the other supposed suggestive antics they may fall into by accident—can totally be explained away in a very logical and reasonable way. Simon just doesn’t have the time to think of it at the moment.

So instead he relishes how Jace follows Simon’s lead, and sits close enough to him that he could feel the Shadowhunters bodyheat, while he drapes a comforting arm over Clary’s petite shoulders.

“He has a whole tun of these safe houses, all over Europe and Asia and Africa.” Dot explains, blithely adjusting her hair in one of the mirrors.

“He’d always thunk of the America’s as too boisterous,” Magnus nods, the smallest of smiles tugging against his lips, and a far away look in his eyes. The same one Becks gets whenever Simon asks her to tell him about their father—before his death, back when he use to hoist Simon up on his shoulders and sing to him old Yiddish folk songs, and force him to volunteer at the soup kitchen for every Hanukkah, and Christmas and the whole month of Ramadan, because “Simon my boy, we’re all lights of gods, we’re all his children. It is important for us to understand how our brothers and sisters around the world celebrate God’s grace, and for us to be humbled by it.”

Simon’s dad was a professor at NYU, so he supposes that in a technical sense he was intelligent beyond belief, but it was those rare moments, when he would espouse convictions he actually lived by in his every day life, Simon thought he was brilliant.

Jace starts to make an invisible path along Simon’s leg with the tip of his finger, and with a sickening jolt, Simon remembers that Jace never had that. He never experienced what it was to be brought up with a father who adored him for all he was, a father who tried making him the best version of himself, rather than a murder machine. Instead he got a deranged psychopath who snapped his pets necks, and raved against how love is the destructor of all—occasionally feeding him a bowl of pasta as if it repented for all the physical and mental abuse. Then when he finally gets some version of a caring father in the form of Robert Lightwood, he has to watch his maybe, sort of half brother slice his neck in cold blood.

Fuck.

Simon really hates everything right now.

“You think this’ll hold for a strong enough base until we figure out how to undermine the Clave’s rule, and kill Sebastian ourselves,” Alec interrogates in his stoic, Nephilim leader voice—one eye constantly on where Magnus is turning over an old relic.

“Not positive big guy, but Imma gunna go check out the if the protection and deception wards are still holding strong, if ya wanna join me. Maybe use some runes to help out?”

“No, I’ll go.”

“Ah Clary, you know I love you. And we’ve long ago accepted that you could probably hand me my ass in a fight, but do you—“

“I have to go sigh,” Clary contends, sweeping away the wrinkles from her top in one fluid motion and meeting Dot by the doorway. “We all know that if anyone should be drawing protection runes, it should be me.” No one dares argue, partly because Clary’s totally right, her involuntary Angelic encounter within the womb has endowed her with some ~special~ gifts in that of the rune variety, but also because there’s a fierceness in her eyes that no sane person would challenge outright.

“Alright buttercup,” Dot leers, obviously impressed. “Hope you don’t mind a little rain.”

“It really is storming out there isn’t it,” Magnus notes mildly, eyeing the window where they could now see tuffs of Clary’s scorching hair, and the soft violet of Dot’s magic.

“Don’t tell me it’s an actual bad omen Magnus,” Jace bites out—shoulders tensed, and looking as thoroughly exhausted as probably all of them. Simon really would like nothing more than to rub soothing circles into the taught, marked muscles of Jace’s back. To nudge Jace’s hand closer, silent permission to let it keep exploring further, and further upwards. To press his nose into the crook of Jace’s neck and take in the soap, and lemon sent that seems to be permanently clung onto his skin. Simon just wants to—

But no.

That’s not something only friends would do. And despite all of the almosts and could’ve bens they’ve stumbled across, they’ve never crossed that line. That line that feels like a whole other world of forevers and promises Simon would like to swear to Jace when it’s the middle of the night, and Simon misses the way his heart—his everything—just feels lighter when Jace is tossing barbs with him, or yelling at him for being reckless, or just being within his orbit.

Simon thinks they’ll probably teeter on the edge of that line for as long as he could imagine—and he’s a fucking vampire. That’s a long ass time.

 

“Not an omen—just an observation Jace,” Magnus catches Alec’s eye, and they have a conversation composed of nothing more than the kinking of brows, and most probably a kind of intuition only shared by lovers. Simon remembers how his mom use to regale to Simon about soulmates and how they’re real, and how his father was hers, so that’s why she has to drink so much. “To make the hurt go away.”

Simon thinks that Magnus and Alec are probably the greatest manifestation of what soulmates must represent, and really hopes this vengeful war doesn’t tare them apart. That it doesn’t tare any of them apart.

Simon turns his head minutely to find Jace staring at him, hiking a brow—a common code they’ve mastered in the middle of a battle to ask if the other is alright moving forward in the fight.

Simon smiles at him, nods, and prays to whatever deity that’s out there that Jace Lightwood is spared anymore heartache.

 

~*~

 

“I call a mutiny,” Simon harrumphs with a smacking of his cards to the table.

Dot and Clary had returned a few hours ago with assurances that the safe house’s boarders have been rejuvenated, followed by a very intense ten minute conversation that Izzy was finally able to have after constant watch throughout the day. (It was completely silent, but that didn’t stop the five of them from staring at Clary till it was over—even when her face tinted pink, and Simon was sure that Izzy was quite literally filling her mind with inappropriate thoughts.)

From Izzy’s intel, they found out that the Clave was reticent to deploy a full out attack against Sebastian and his troops, especially with many of their greatest leaders incapacitated, or hiding out in this very room. They don’t intend on calling their cavalry unless Sebastian’s troops are quite literally at their doorstep.

“That’ll be a while—like probably a week or so,” Dot intones with a cold edge to her words. Most likely recollecting her hostage in such close quarters with Valentine himself. “If he’s anything like his father, he’ll want to ensure he’s got the upper hand—it’d take a while to call on all those demons.

At that realization, a chillness spilled over them—all understanding that they were in the thick of it. The calm before the storm.

It was Magnus’s idea to play a round of cards, to try and get their minds off of the looming apocalypse. Which actually would’ve totally worked if Simon hadn’t lost every round of the infernal game.

“Maybe you just suck Lewis,” Jace remarks dryly, nudging Simon’s arm with his elbow.

“Nuh-uh, this level of injustice has to be supernaturally bound,” Simon makes a big show of it with a wide sweep of his arms—narrowly smacking Jace’s nose with the back of his palm.

“Keep your hands to yourself Lewis,” Jace snarks, passing his stack of cards to Dot, who just smiles sympathetically to him while Clary starts up a conversation about the precision of rune drawing with Alec, who in turn just smiles lazily and toys with the hair on the nape of Magnus’s neck.

“Oh please bro, don’t front. You totally want these hands all over you.” Like most of the time , Simon’s brain catches up to what his mouth has just spouted out three seconds too late, and he is now burning a blazing scarlet. “Ah—huh, i mean in a very general sense. Like everyone wants my hands all over them, like constantly. Just cause I’m that awesome—Like Alec for instance, he’s got a mega hot boyfriend but he totally wants—“

“Not in a million years, or even when I’m dead.”

Seriously? Does Alec really need to poke in his general aversion towards Simon right now? Like while Simon’s already making a total fool of himself?

“You’re an idiot,” Is all Jace sighs out, with a long suffering role of the eyes. But Simon could so totally see the slight fondness crinkling at his edges, and tries his damnedest to pretend as if that isn’t making his heart swell up with affection.

“Si, you’re a vamp, that means your just as supernatural as the rest of us. Probably more so, considering all the vampire fangirls in the world right now,” Seriously, Simon is sure that in a past life Clary was   some sort of fairy princess, (Well, erm not fairy—maybe just enchanted or some other Tinker Bell-esque creature—Oh wait, minus the attitude from the original Peter Pan. An hey, if Simon’s subtracting Tinker Bell’s attitude from that movie, he might as well erase the blatant racism too—Wait, Simon’s getting on a tangent now..) The important part is that Clary smoothly  switches the attention to his previous comment rather than his current embarrassment.

“Oh yeah whatever, I could run fast and I get to scare the bejesus out of drunkards who are shouting outside of me and Maia’s apartment in the middle of the night. Big whoop.”

“You aren’t suppose to expose your fangs to Mundanes,” Alec moves away from where he’s nuzzling against Magnus’s chest, to grit out before returning to his leisurely actions.

“Not the moral of the story Alexander,” Simon needles with the waggling of his pointer finger.

“Oh, then won’t you please enlighten us,” Jace snorts, but Simon forgives him because of the way his shirt rides up his stomach while he’s leaning back on his palms to get a better angle of Simon—exposing a line of perfectly toned flesh that Simon would really like to get his tongue on.

“Just cause you asked nicely goldilocks,” his wink is met by one of Jace’s cheeky smirks that never fails to get Simon all hot and bothered, and a whole chorus of groans by everyone else that he’d really rather not decipher at the moment. “All you guys have like magic abilities and enhanced everything. and you’re all like impossibly gorgeous and kind of terrifyingly smart, and you always call me on my shit, an-and,” Simon quickly clamps down on his mouth before he starts spouting out more and more attributes that make it all the clearer that he’s not talking about the whole group per se, but rather, one specific member of this little ragtag avengers force they’ve got going for them.

One member who’s eyes go owlish, staring up at Simon as if he’s actually, clinically insane.

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

Simon doesn’t have the chance to ask Jace to elaborate on what he meant, because that’s when Dot starts  making gagging noises from where she’s collecting all her winnings—which includes Simon’s left shoe, and a piece of scrap paper that promises a free lunch on him.

“I expect to cash this out once this whole war business is out of the way and we’re back home,” Dot sniffs with a waving of the slip, but the slight quake to her ordinarily effervescent timbre doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone.

“Right well, I think we should call it a  night. We can recollect tomorrow morning over breakfast, hopefully Luke and his pack will have sent us a message by then.”

“Good idea,” Dot crows before leaping from off the ground. “The master bedroom’s mine!”

Magnus let’s out a reluctant huff of laughter, and Simon ponders how they were able to consolidate a kinship that really does rival that of his and Rebecca’s and even that of all of the Lightwoods. He reasons that all of the hardships through the centuries they have lived really made it so  that their sibling like relationship  was as thick as that of blood.

“Come on my rogue Nephilim,” Magnus fondly croons, raising up a very tired looking Alec from the couch. “Let’s get some shut eye.”

The boyfriends trudge up the stairs—And Simon’s stomach drops.

He knows full and well that there’s only four beds in this entire house, thanks to an impromptu tour by Dot herself. Which means that Clary’s his only hope.

“G’night boys,” she yawns, stretching her arms over her head. “Imma gonna call it a night too.”

“Oh, just leave me some room so I don’t wake you up later, okay?”

Clary looks scandalized, and Jace mildly peeved off. (But that’s Jace’s default expression, so Simon really doesn’t take it personally.)

“Si, we can’t share a room,” Clary insists, and he swears that she has on the same impetuous pout that she use to get before stomping her foot when they were kids, and demanding that Luke by her whatever’s caught her eye.”

“Why not,” Simon spreads out his hands placatingly, hiking his eyebrows in surprise of her visceral rejection. “We’ve shared beds since we were like preschoolers.”

“I know,” Clary’s face is seriously making a vehement effort to match her hair. “But just not tonight, alright.”

“Why not!” Simon harps, desperate at this point not to have the first time he and Jace share a bed out of necessity over desire.

“Because…” Clary mumbles out. “Because Izzy said I could talk to her later tonight.”

It takes a moment, but Simon finally slits the pieces to their right positions, and makes out what Clary’s trying to get across to him. “Oh my God! You’re Sexiling me!”

“I am not,” Clary scoffs airily, with an imperious tilt of her head, and crossing of her arms.

“OH you so totally are! You are sexiling me too have really kinky phone sex with your girlfriend through a weird spiritual Fay ring. AN you don’t want me to crawl into bed later because you’ll probably be naked and warn out!”

Clary’s face blanches, and Jace makes a strangled noise—probably from the horror of imagining his baby sister having sex of any sort, especially really kinky kind with one of his best friends.

“Ahch, he’s your problem now,” Clary hisses, pivoting on her heels and never turning back.

SO yeah—Simon may have flubbed that.

 

~*~

 

After the infamous sexile accusation by Simon, he and Jace’s conversation became pretty stilted—in ways it hasn’t been for a long while.

Almost two hours in, they both finally admit that they’re both pretty worn out, and retire to the small room that’s adjacent to the office on the upper level. The room’s  as cozy as one could ever expect from a bunker like facility, and is dusty with years of vacancy.

“ah, so how does this work? Because if I’m being at all honest I’m usually a smack dab in the middle kind of guy—you know instead of these arbitrary left side, right side expectations. Becks says it’s cause I’m a spoiled brat who doesn’t know how to share, but I think it’s just my inner rockstar taking what he knows is his. Ja feel?” Simon quirks up a grin at Jace, who’s just regarding him with his patent look of indifference. “Ah, bro you good?”

“I could sleep on the couch if you prefer,” Jace speaks quickly, as if flustered by the  non sequitur, but the spark in his pretty, mismatched eyes tells Simon that he completely and wholly means it. That if Simon just gave him the word, he’d gladly spend the night, and every night from here on out, on the musty, rank, excruciatingly uncomfortable couch downstairs. That he’d do anything to ensure that Simon is comfortable in however their tentative relationship blossoms.

Another spike of affection pricks Simon’s unbeating chest.

“No—Ah, no it’s cool. I’m cool with this if you are?”

Jace levels him with another serious look. (It still takes Simon aback whenever he remembers that he’s the taller of the two—only by an inch, but still. Having Jace flicker up at him just slightly—well it does things to Simon that he should really try and avoid if they’re going to be sharing the same bed.

Eventually, in what feels like eons, but is most likely just seconds, Jace finds something in Simon’s gaze that e must approve of, because he’s padding off to the opposite corner of the room, and stripping off his shirt.

And oh.

Jace sleeps in only his boxers—Yeah, that’s a vision Simon’d like to keep in his mind for the rest of eternity.

Abruptly, Simon realizes that he must look like the biggest perv in the world just staring at Jace undressing like this, so he scrambles to shed off his own, raggedy jeans. But he keeps on the wife beater under his Spiderman shirt. Yeah, sure Simon has grown accustomed to the fact that Jace was most likely chiseled out of actual fucking marble, and he’s completely fine and comfortable in his body, and them sharing a space—the most comfortable in Jace’s space—but that doesn’t change the fact that Simon has a very fragile ego, and comparing his pale everything to all of Jace’s chorded muscles, and golden bronze skin and—well one could only take so much.

Jace situates on the right side of the bed, one of Ragnor’s books in his hand because of course Jace’s the hot, intellectual type to read before bed. A minute later, Simon slips in besides him—keeping a safe distance of at least six inches between them.

“You gunna just stare at me all night?” Jace prods good-naturedly, looking up from the ancient looking tome, something tender in his eyes.

“You gunna just read to yourself all night,” Simon snarks back.

“Pain in my ass,” Jace mutters before starting to read out loud.

Simon falls asleep to the soft lilt of his voice, and the feel of Jace’s hand gingerly carding through his hair.

 

~*~

 

True to form, Simon is drawn out of slumber by the soft caress of light that’s peered through the blinds. He’s in the very middle of the mattress, but oddly enough rather than being starfished on his belly as usual, Simon feels cocooned against a broad chest, and strong arms—a position he’s definitely not accustomed to.

It takes another moment, but Simon is soon smacked with the memory of Jace’s soft golden hair washed out by moonlight, and his honey coded voice reading the adventures of a Brazilian’s explorers encounters with the supernatural.

It had all felt so domestic and calm and lovely, that Simon had nearly forgotten that they were in the midst of a horrendous war, and that he and Jace are in fact not boyfriends who do this every night.

That fact kind of makes Simon’s whole being sag with despair if he’s being at all honest.

Certain in this being their only morning after, no matter how disheartening, Simon is intent on getting a look of Jace’s hazy, just woken up face. Before all the forced bravado, and half hearted snipes. The face Simon has only seen on a handful of occasions—like when he’s handing Jace a bag of peanut MnMs from the driver’s seat, because Jace plus driving is one equation that never has a good solution. Or the times Simon makes a particularly witty comeback for something stupid Jace’s said. Or the times that Simon swears to him that he’s fine after a particularly gruesome battle. It’s Simon’s favorite look on Jace, a look that makes him feel like Jace may actually trust him.

Sadly, the slight movement seems to have activated Jace’s superhuman training, and he’s snapping his eyes open, alert for any danger, but he soon realizes that it’s just Simon laying their besides him. Jace’s defenses fall, and it looks like he might even be about to smile. That is until he realizes their position on the bed—his arms wrapped around Simon who in turn has folded himself comfortably into Jace’s curved body. A look of horror crosses his face before Jace is leaping out of the bed, apologies pouring out of   his lips.

“I’m so sorry, I was asleep and I didn’t—“ Jace’s words tapper off, as his eyes flicker around the room for some sort of exit.

Simon eyes him, and thinks he might finally understand Jace. Understand that Jace is always searching for Simon’s absolute permission, and eagerness in any sort of development in their relationship. The first time they hugged, it was induced by Simon’s bumbling excitement over his band getting a gig from one of the more exclusive clubs in Brooklyn, even if it was a threeAM time slot. The first time they held hands was when Jace was squeezing out demonic venom from a cut on Simon’s palm—but then Simon just kept squeezing Jace’s hand after battles, or as farewell, or just whenever he felt like it. And soon enough, Jace begun reciprocating the small, intimate gesture.

Fuck, Simon thinks he might love the guy.

Simon’s heartbeat hikes up as he starts to rise from the bed, and realizes what he wants his next step to be.

“You liked it though, right? You liked waking up besides me? Knowing I was safe, that I was with you.”

Jace’s face goes pained, and Simon knows he hit the nail on the head.

Simon walks closer to him, slowly, deliberately. He never lets their gazes fall away from each other—marveling at how the early morning son hugs all the sharp edges of his beautiful face, and is reminded of the last time they visited the court of the Fay. The way the sparkling snow touched his impossible cheekbones, and gave him a rosy hue—making him look like an all around Disney prince come to life.

And he wants Simon.

Simon thinks Jace might even love him the way he does him. And that, that is just to much.

“it’s okay, I felt the same.” Simon swoops forward. It hurts a little the first time their lips collide, (Thanks super strength,) but Simon feels mollified when Jace pushes back, for only a moment, and nips much more softly on Simon’s bottom lip, running a reverent tongue over the tender skin.

They just stand there, kissing—slowly, passionately, with intent—as if they could do it for the next eon to come and still not get their fill.

Simon feels like he might burst.

~*~

Clary walks in on them an hour later, snapping a picture before either notices, and crows about how it’s payback for Simon’s outburst the previous night. But honestly, Simon really doesn’t mind. He thinks he might even ask for a print out once their back in the city to keep it in his wallet like a total douche.

Fuck, Simon is so lost on Jace.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty Pretty please let me know what you think about this!! I love writing Jimon because you guys are always so willing to tell me what you thought, it means so much that you take the time, and inspires me to write them!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://madzielightbanes.tumblr.com) it's where most of my Jimon dribbles are found XD


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